


that ain't news no more

by Rehearsal_Dweller



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mom Friend David Jacobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24320677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehearsal_Dweller/pseuds/Rehearsal_Dweller
Summary: Race has always gotten terrible headaches, but this time he's got Davey looking out for him.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva & Racetrack Higgins, Racetrack Higgins/David Jacobs
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	that ain't news no more

**Author's Note:**

> Another in my quest to finish all my WIPs before I start anything new, it's the Canon Era Race Needs Glasses Fic!  
> I gave Race some very specific vision issues in Royal and Near Miss, and I was thinking about what that might be like for canon era Race, so this happened. The Ravey is just bonus because let's be honest I was bound to write some eventually you guys have SEEN how I write them as friends.

Race knows it’s going to be a bad day about two seconds after he wakes up. Maybe less. He’s felt the building tension behind his eyes for the last handful of days, and now it’s reared its ugly head as a full blown headache, complete with light sensitivity.

And after a bad bet at the races a few days ago, Race can’t afford to take the day and feel sorry for himself with his head under a pillow. He groans, taking advantage of the handful of minutes he still has to smush his face into the pillow and pretend today isn’t happening.

“Racer, c’mon,” Albert says, shaking his shoulder.

“Nooo,” Race whines.

“Come _on_ , man, we gotta go,” says Albert. When Race still doesn’t move to get up, he digs his fingers into Race’s arm and rolls him over by force.

“ _Al_ ,” says Race, curling in on himself. “That ain’t nice.”

“Well you ain’t got the funds to go skippin’ a day’a work,” Albert says. His tone softens a little. “You got one’a your headaches?”

“S’fuckin’ agony,” Race says. “Ain’t had one this bad in a while.”

“I could cover ya if you’re really not up to it.”

“No, I’m gettin’ up.” Race sits up, rolling his shoulders back and squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Fuck _me_ today is gonna suck.”

“S’gonna suck for a lot longer if you don’t get a move on,” says Albert. He pats Race’s arm. “Sooner you got papes, sooner you’ll be done. You stickin’ with me today?”

“Maybe,” Race says. He opens his eyes, looking up at his friend. “F’I can’t read the headline.”

“Race, man, I’ve seen you look a lot less shitty than this and not be able to read the headline,” replies Albert.

“We’ll see,” says Race.

Race can’t read the headline.

That’s not quite true – Race can see the big headline on the board, and can recognize the words, but the actual newspaper in his hand is swimming.

“Hey, Racer, you okay?” Davey’s voice says. Race has his eyes shut again, so he can’t yet attach _Davey’s voice_ to _Davey’s person_ , although he assumes the rest of him is there. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit, thanks for noticin’,” says Race. He takes a deep breath – _in, out, I am not going to lose a fight with the sun_ – and opens his eyes.

Davey is pretty close to him, a concerned crease between his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Wicked headache,” Race says, shrugging. “Sunlight’s fuckin’ killing me. Get’em every week or two. Been pretty lucky lately, I guess, I ain’t had a bad one since before the strike.”

“You had anything to drink today? You could be dehydrated,” Davey says, still frowning.

“I have,” says Race. He gives Davey a weak smile. “Promise it’s nothin’ to worry about, Daves.”

“If you’re sure.” Davey does not sound sure.

“I usually tag along with somebody when it’s bad,” Race admits. He fidgets with his hat, pulling it a bit lower over his brow. He grimaces. “When I can’t read the papes.”

“You can’t read the papes?”

“S’all fuzzy,” Race says. “Hurts my eyes to try to focus on the words, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know,” says Davey. “Have you considered that you might need glasses?”

“Pssh, no. I don’t need no specs. N’anyway, I’ve _tried_ Specs’s specs and they made everythin’ blurry. Made my head spin,” Race says. “I can see fine.” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “Usually.”

“Race, are you sure you’re okay?” Davey asks.

“M’fine, Daves,” Race repeats. “Like I said, s’happened before, and it’ll happen again.” He takes another slow breath – _in, out, stop forgetting to fucking blink –_ before speaking again. “F’you’s worried, I can partner _you_ today; Albo offered but he won’t care if I ditch’im.”

Davey is still frowning, a deep crease between his eyebrows. “I’d feel better if I can keep an eye on you.”

“Right,” says Race. He grins lazily at Davey, because he might feel like shit but there’s something warm in his chest at Davey’s concern that even this damn headache can’t overwhelm. “Thought’cha might.” He raises his voice a little. “’Ey, Albo! I’m stickin’ to Davey today!”

Albert waves in acknowledgement. “Better him than me!”

“I hate you!” Race calls back brightly.

“You too, dumbass!”

Race turns back to Davey, who’s shaking his head with a small, fond smile on his face. “You two are somethin’ else.”

“Why thank you,” says Race. They flag Jack down, too, and Davey lets him know in his much quieter way that he’ll be spending the day with Race.

Jack nods, looking from one to the other, then he puts a hand on Race’s shoulder. “Good. Davey’ll take good care’a ya.”

Race doesn’t need telling _that_. Davey takes good care of all of them, looking out for the littles and keeping the big kids from doing anything too stupid. He cares too much by half, when it comes down to it.

The boy would wear himself to the bone looking out for them, if they’d let him.

By the time they’re out of papers, Race’s headache has gotten – if possible – half again as bad as it was when he set out from the house this morning. It’s taking every ounce of energy Race has to maintain any semblance of normalcy.

He doesn’t realize how much he’s drifting until he feels Davey’s gentle hand grip his arm. “Hmm?”

“Racer, you ain’t lookin’ so good,” Davey says, his voice soft.

“I don’t feel so good, Daves,” Race admits. He blinks up at the taller boy, feeling slightly dazed.

“Come on, let’s go,” says Davey. He doesn’t let go of Race, tugging him on with a light touch, his fingers still wrapped around Race’s wrist. Race doesn’t recognize the path Davey’s on, but he trusts Davey. He just lets the older boy lead him wherever it is he’s decided to go.

They stop when Davey stops to dig a key out of his pocket, letting them into a small apartment.

“S’is your place, Daves?” Race asks, curiosity pushing through the haze of discomfort and sensitivity.

Davey nods. He calls into the apartment as they enter. “Mama? You home?”

A woman pokes her head around the corner from another room. “David?”

“Hi Mama,” Davey greets. He pulls Race along behind him as he walks over to her and kisses her on the cheek. “Mama, this is my friend Race.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Race says, because he may be a street kid but his mother taught him manners. A long time ago, but she taught him.

“And you, dear,” Davey’s mother replies. “David, you don’t usually come home during the day.”

“Race isn’t feelin’ well, Mama,” Davey says. He finally releases his hold on Race’s wrist, but only to throw his arm around Race and pull him in a little closer. “I thought a rest on a nicer bed than they’ve got at the lodging house might do him some good.”

Davey’s mother nods. “He looks it. Do you two want something to eat? I can throw something together.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mama,” says Davey, shaking his head. “Although you might want to count Race in for dinner.”

“You don’t have to do that, ma’am,” Race cuts in. “I’ll be long gone before dinner.”

“You will do no such thing, Racetrack Higgins,” Davey says sternly. He glances back to his mother. “As long as it’s alright with you, Mama.”

“Of course it is,” Davey’s mother says, her tone firm. “We are always happy to have friends of David’s over, and I won’t have you leaving here without a full meal. Especially if you’re not well.”

“Right, uh, thank you, Mrs. Jacobs,” Race says. He looks back at Davey, feeling slightly lost.

“You’re very welcome.”

“Our room’s through here,” Davey says, leading Race past his mother and into one of the rooms off of the main one. “It’s not much, I share with Les and Sarah, but – but it’s something.” He trails off, his voice getting quieter with each word. “I’m sorry, do you even _want_ –“

“Davey,” Race cuts in. “Thank you. A nap sounds _amazing_ right now, and you’re right, the beds in the house are for shit.”

“Right,” Davey says, his voice still very soft. He points to one of the beds, pushed up against he near wall. “This one’s mine.”

Race walks over to the bed he indicated, but doesn’t move to sit or lay down. “What’cha gonna do while I nap, Daves?”

“Maybe help Mama with her work if she needs it,” Davey says. “Or read a little, I dunno.”

“S’at what’cha do when you’s supposed to be sleepin’ at night, too?” Race teases. “’Cause you come in lookin’ like you ain’t been sleepin’ an awful lot.”

Davey blushes, looking away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Racer. Clearly that headache of yours has you more out of it than we thought.”

“Just – c’mere, woul’ja?” Race says. He kicks his boots off and crawls onto the bed, then pats the space next to him. “I know you, Daves. You go into the other room and help your mama or read, and you’ll worry yourself to pieces.” He shakes his head carefully, trying not to agitate it too much but determined to get his point across. “Only way you’ll be able to relax’s if you’re here with me. Read or sleep, I don’t care.”

“Race,” Davey says, his voice still almost painfully soft.

Race pats the space on the bed next to him again, pointedly. “Davey Jacobs, I am not laying down until you’s right here nex’ta me.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Davey asks, shaking his head. Still, he picks up a beaten paperback off of the dresser and crawls onto the bed next to Race after carefully toeing off his own shoes.

“Sleep, I hope,” Race says, trying not to let his mind linger too much on the proximity. There’s been a lot of proximity to Davey Jacobs today – maybe he’d been wrong about today being a bad day. He’s pretty proud of how steady his voice is when he speaks again. “Now shaddup, woul’ja? My head hurts.”

Davey chuckles softly, shaking his head again. He settles in, leaning against the wall with his book propped on his knees.

Race lets himself look at Davey for a moment, taking in his faint smile and the focus in his eyes as he reads. Then he takes a deep breath and rolls over toward the wall. It’s not a good idea for Race to watch Davey too long; the older boy hasn’t noticed anything odd yet but he’s bound to eventually. And anyway, his head’s still killing him.

He throws one arm across his face to block out the light and promptly falls asleep.

He wakes sometime later to a gentle touch on his face – fingers brushing his too-long curls away from his eyes. Some time in his sleep he’d rolled onto his back and his arm fell away from his face. His headache has subsided somewhat, leaving just a dull ache behind his eyes rather than the throbbing that was there earlier. Somewhere distant, Race wonders whose hand is in his hair.

He opens his eyes.

Davey pulls his hand back like he’s been burned.

“Racer!” His voice cracks on the second syllable.

“Heya, darlin’,” Race say sleepily.

“Race, you feelin’ any better?” Davey asks gently. He doesn’t meet Race’s eye.

Race takes stock. Dull ache in his head, stupid flutter in his chest. Leftover warmth from Davey’s hand on his cheek. “Give or take. Felt better with you playin’ with my hair.”

“Race –“ Davey falters, but his eyes have snapped to Race’s.

“Sorry, s’at too much?” Race asks. “I’m not gonna lie, Daves, I’m still a li’l sleepy.”

Davey laughs. “Not too much.”

Very tentatively, Davey reaches for Race again. Race tips his head to the side, inviting. Davey’s fingers comb through his curls, arranging and rearranging them. It’s soothing, and Race could just about fall asleep all over again.

“Thanks, darlin’.”

Davey’s hand stills. “Race –“

“Sorry,” Race says. “I just – sorry.”

“No,” Davey replies, quiet. His thumb traces along Race’s cheekbone. “I guess, just – do you – do you _mean_ anything by it or are you just –“

Race sits up, and Davey’s hand stays on the side of his face. “Do you want me to mean it, Davey?”

“Race,” Davey says, and it’s a little shaky. Nothing like the confident, self-assured Davey Race usually sees.

“Because I do, love,” Race continues gently. It’s a risk – a gamble. But Race is known for his gambling, isn’t he? “I mean it.”

Davey makes a funny little sound at the back of his throat, like maybe he’s trying to speak but it got stuck. Race puts his hand over Davey’s, over the one still resting on his cheek like Davey can’t remember how to move it.

“For sure?”

“For sure.”

“ _Me_?”

“You,” Race says. He lets out a tiny laugh, more a breath than anything but the intent’s what counts. “Lord, who else do I let care about me like this?”

Before Davey can respond, another voice cuts in –

“David!” his mother calls. “Is your friend awake? We’re ready for dinner, but I can save something for him if he’s still sleeping.”

“He’s awake, Mama!” Davey calls back, looking slightly strained. “We’ll be out in a minute!”

Davey looks back to Race. He drops his hand.

The moment is gone.

“You said you get these a lot, yeah? The headaches?” Davey says softly. Race nods. “Well, uh, let me know next time and we can – we can do this again? Did it help?”

“Yeah, Davey,” Race says, finding his voice again. “Yeah, it helped.”

“Well, good,” says Davey. He slips off of the bed, offering a hand to help Race up. “Good.”

One more gamble –

Race pops up on his toes as he brushes past Davey toward the door and gives him a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it peck on the cheek.

He turns on his heel when he reaches the bedroom door, because Davey isn’t with him. No, the other boy is still standing right where Race left him by the bed, one hand raised to the cheek Race kissed.

“Davey?” Race says, suddenly nervous.

Davey blinks a few times, dropping his hand. “Right. Dinner. I –“

“Was that okay?”

“Yes. More than okay. Just – just a shock.”

Race hums, smiling to himself. He tucks that piece of information away for later. “Dinner?”

“Dinner,” Davey agrees, and he opens the door so they can join the family around the table.

Later, when Race is getting ready for bed in his own bed back at the lodging house – and trying not to think about how much harder he knows it’ll be to fall asleep without Davey’s quiet presence nearby – Albert stops him.

“Hey, you look better,” he says. “Day with Davey do you good?”

Race nods a little absentmindedly. “Yeah, he took good care’a me.”

“Your head still botherin’ you?”

“Not really.”

“Good,” Albert says. He reaches over and ruffles up Race’s hair (it’s not as nice as when Davey does it) and then pats his shoulder. “Night, Race.”

“Yeah. Night, Albert,” Race replies.

And as he lies in bed, trying to make his brain slow back down enough to fall asleep, Race can’t help but feel like today wasn’t so bad after all – killer headache and all.

After all, how often does he get Davey to himself?

He smiles, thinking of the soft look on Davey’s face when he’d just woken up from his nap, almost feeling the ghost of those gentle fingers on his cheek. Maybe he’ll get Davey to himself a little more often now, anyway.


End file.
